


he’s got a halo around the finger around you

by abbean



Category: Yu-Gi-Oh! VRAINS
Genre: (kind of?? i'm always vague if i'm using that term properly), Blow Jobs, Established Relationship, Guilt, Hand & Finger Kink, M/M, Mutual Masturbation, POV Second Person, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings, Sibling Incest, as always we ignore the ableist bullshit vrains pulled with jin, postcanon idk how far off and i don't really care, without a trace of irony: don't like don't read
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-17
Updated: 2021-03-17
Packaged: 2021-03-25 21:59:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,817
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30095736
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/abbean/pseuds/abbean
Summary: All right, so, things Jin is unexpectedly good at: hand massages, euphemisms, simulated fellatio.  Also being cute while doing all those.Alsobeing the sexiest creature on the fuckingplanet.
Relationships: Kusanagi Jin/Kusanagi Shouichi
Comments: 1
Kudos: 3





	he’s got a halo around the finger around you

**Author's Note:**

> i’ll fill this tag singlehandedly, don’t test me. i love fetishizing the romanticization of the kusanagi bros’ incestuous relationship 🥰

Jin hates it when you crack your knuckles, though not as much as he _loves_ to _loudly complain_ the moment he hears the faintest pop.

“Seriously, niisan, that’s how you get arthritis,” he tells you—not for the first time—shooting you a look as you sit on the sofa massaging your sore fingers.

“It’s not how you get arthritis,” you mutter, deadpan.

“I’m just saying.” He comes over and joins you on the couch; his hands, when he takes one of yours between them, are gentle. “You should be nicer to these things, Shoichi-niisan. Especially with all that typing you do... have you been wearing your braces much lately?”

“Cracking my knuckles has nothing to do with my carpal tunnel, Jin, it’s a nerve thing,” you say, even as you glance away from him. “And, uh... no, not really. They get all _sweaty_ ,” you insist when he squints at you disapprovingly.

“You’re such a _baby_ ,” he says, shaking his head. “I swear, I have _no_ idea how you managed to survive without me all this time.”

Jin spreads your fingers out in the palm of his hand and uses his thumb to apply light pressure between your first two knuckles. You’re not sure what he’s doing that _you_ weren’t, but the lingering ache starts to ebb the longer he rubs. “I just want you to take care of yourself, niisan,” he mumbles, voice gone soft and sober. “You’re such a damn hypocrite... always picking at me and Fujiki-kun and Ai for our bad habits, and then you turn around and do the exact same thing. You matter too, you know.” 

“Yeah, yeah, I know.” The defeated sigh catches in your throat as Jin starts working on your palm, sending tingles all the way up to your elbow as he pokes and prods. “You’re actually really good at that... where’d you even learn it?”

“The internet,” he says simply, “same place anyone learns anything. I’ll do your other hand if you promise not to make a mess on the couch.”

You snort. “I’d ask where you got your sense of humor from, but that one’s a little more obvious.” It makes Jin smirk as he shifts his attention to your wrist, pinching it between his thumb and forefinger and massaging firm circles into the skin. “No, but for real, I think you might’ve found your calling here, Jin. My hands haven’t felt this loose in years.”

“Too bad I’m not interested in anyone’s hands but yours,” he responds, and raises his eyes from his work to show you the mischievous little glint in them.

“C’mon, Jin, don’t make it horny,” you chide gently.

“Who’s making it horny?” he tosses back. “All I said is I don’t care much about cozying it up with strangers. _You’re_ the one indiscriminately calling things horny.”

“Yeah, no,” you insist as he strokes your opposite hand. “You can act innocent with anyone else, Jin, but not with me. I saw that look in your eyes. You were _definitely_ being horny.”

“I don’t know, niisan, _you’re_ the one who’s apparently seeing sex everywhere.” And then he lifts your hand to his mouth so that he can kiss your knuckles, a sweet barely-there brush of his lips. Little shit.

“I’m just saying—” you begin, only to lose your train of thought as Jin starts nuzzling your fingers. You’ve got to admit, he’s _very_ good at playing coy: his eyelashes flutter cutely as he traces around the delicate bones, lightly touches his lips to the calluses on your palms, and then gently nips at the sensitive joints, just the _slightest_ hint of teeth that, all the same, gets your blood buzzing. He still doesn’t make eye contact, either, because he’s just _so_ shy. Your toes twitch inside your worn socks as his hair tickles your wrist. “I’m just _saying_ —” you try again.

All at once, Jin abandons the pretense and takes your pointer and middle fingers into his mouth, swallowing them down to the second knuckle. His tongue’s quick to fill the space between them, hot and wet on your skin; the shaky sigh tumbling out of your mouth almost certainly qualifies as a moan.

“Okay, yeah, _that’s_ horny,” you bite out. “That’s _unequivocally_ horny.”

He just shrugs, the little bastard, humming contentedly around his mouthful. He sucks on your fingers as suggestively as he can, which isn’t a high bar, admittedly: his lips smack loudly as he massages the digits with that _incredible_ tongue, before he changes tack and pulls them deep enough into his mouth that, if you stretched, you could touch the back of his throat.

It’s not like your hands are some huge erogenous zone for you, either—you’d be pretty damn useless as a coder if that were the case. You’re just _so weak_ for Jin’s mouth, hooked from the very first kiss, really. He starts tending to your other fingers, a soft sigh in his throat as he licks and sucks, and you feel heat creeping up your neck when it becomes clear his not-quite-blowjob is actually getting you hard. Jin’s intention, obviously, but it still reminds you just _how much_ you’re wrapped around his finger. (Probably _also_ his intention, knowing him.)

“Honestly, Jin,” you say breathlessly, half-laughing over the sound of his happy little groans. You’re desperate for just a _bit_ of a foothold, to prove you’re not as totally whipped as he thinks you are. “The mouth of an angel and that’s how you choose to use it. Shameful.”

He finally pulls off, spit trailing from your fingers to his mouth until he licks his lips and the strand breaks. “Is it angels who get on their knees?” he asks, soft tenor turned low and hoarse. “I thought it was men.”

All right, so, things Jin is unexpectedly good at: hand massages, euphemisms, simulated fellatio. Also being cute while doing all those. _Also_ being the sexiest creature on the fucking _planet_.

There’s a heady pause where the two of you just _stare_ at each other, the tension between you thick enough to cut with a knife. Then, moving in tandem, Jin drops to the carpet in front of your spot on the couch while you make hasty work of the tie at your waistband, your chest already heaving in anticipation of what’s to come.

So much for not being whipped.

“Mm, niisan,” Jin murmurs, pleased as can be as he helps tug your sweats down your thighs. You’d been lounging around commando like some kind of prophet, which makes it all the easier for him to pull your cock out to tease; just a few strokes gets you fully erect, your throat growing tight as you lean your head back against the sofa cushions. As you’re making a move for his hair, though, he suddenly stops you with a sharp, “Wait.”

“What?” you say, wondering if he’s trying to play the top (and thinking you’re _not_ going to last very long if he is).

Instead, Jin says, “Wipe your hands off first.”

Maybe it’s the blood having _long_ since left your brain, but you’re confused. “Uh, one more time?”

“I don’t want spit in my hair!” he insists, more whiny than sultry now, and you try your hardest not to burst out laughing at how ridiculous it is.

“Jin, you’re _literally_ about to put my dick in your mouth, and it’s _your_ spit, anyway—”

“It’s _gross_ , niisan!” He pouts at you, actually _pouts_ , which finally makes you chuckle despite yourself even as you obediently dry your hands on your t-shirt.

“There. Happy now?” At his curt little nod, you thread your fingers through his hair, soft and messy and inky black against your light skin. “But, you know, _I’m_ the baby here.”

“Yes, you are,” Jin says, lips twisting evilly, and he surges forward to lap at the head of your cock, tongue trailing over the slit. Your own smile vanishes as you choke on a moan. “See? That’s what I thought,” Jin murmurs. His breath is damp and so _hot_ , even against the flushed skin of your dick. “You’re not really so above it all, are you, Shoichi-niisan?”

You don’t get the chance to reply: he sucks the head of your dick into his mouth and starts working the sensitive underside with his tongue— _again_ with his fucking tongue—one hand gripping your knee while the other sneaks between your legs to play with your balls. You sigh loudly, your fingers tightening in his hair, which earns an appreciative little hum that you _feel_ more than you hear; the answering chuckle’s a bit more audible as you let out a groan.

It's funny—you were once _really_ hesitant to let Jin blow you, back when the fear that you were taking advantage of him still gnawed at you. (It doesn’t anymore, definitely not. Definitely.) Even more than actually fucking him, something about having him suck your cock felt like crossing a line, like you’d be sullying him past the point of no return if you dared debase him to that extent. Jin, of course, told you again and again to get over yourself, kept pointing out that _he_ came onto _you_ (a fact that constantly slips your mind somehow), and waxed poetic about how badly he wanted to taste you until you finally, _finally_ gave in.

And, what would you know it, the kid was a natural. He’s only gotten better, too. So you do your best to quiet your whirring thoughts and let yourself enjoy what he’s willingly giving you—because he’s _very_ willing, no matter what the little voice in your head says, and the proof is in the pudding. The blowjob. Same difference.

“Niisan’s thinking too much,” Jin singsongs, because apparently he’s a mind-reader. According to him, you’re just that easy to read; since he struggles with emotional cues when it comes to literally anyone else, though, you’re not sure what to believe. “C’mon, cut it out, won’t you?”

“I just—” The thought goes unfinished as he flattens his tongue and drags it up the reverse side of your cock, warm and wet and sticky. Appealing to your base instincts, clearly, since it’s never steered him wrong before. You give up on whatever you were going to tell him in favor of shutting your eyes against the feeling of his lips on your scrotum, teasing with gentle little kisses while his fingers dig into the meat of your thighs and his bangs tickle the sensitive hollow of your groin. You comb your fingers through his hair while your other hand slides up under the rumpled hem of your t-shirt; your nipples stiffen with just a few light touches and then twinge deliciously as you grow more insistent, rubbing, tugging, pinching hard enough to hurt. Jin giggles when he hears you moan overhead.

“I’m telling you, those hands of yours,” he whispers. “They’re fucking godly.” He punctuates this by drawing back and swallowing your cock to the root, no forewarning whatsoever, which naturally makes you gasp aloud.

_“Jin—!”_

Another groan leaves you as he hums; with the head of your dick pressed to the soft palate of his mouth, the _vibrations_ of the sound get your hips twitching. You start pulling on his hair instead of petting, which spurs on more of those guttural little moans that feel just _so_ good, especially when Jin finally gives up on the teasing and takes you as deep as he can, throat muscles straining as he tries to suppress his gag reflex.

“Jin, don’t hurt yourself,” you breathe, like he’s listened to you say it even _once_. “Jin—”

He drags the fingernails of his left hand from your hip down to your knee, hard enough to mark the skin with angry red lines. Staking his claim, which he _knows_ you’re always a sucker for. The hand not cupping the back of his head scrabbles at the sofa for purchase as Jin keeps at it; his mouth is tight and hot and slick around your cock, and when you crack open your eyes to steal a look down at him, the sight of his flushed cheeks and damp lashes is almost too much to bear.

“ _Fuck_ , Jin, I’m close,” you bite out. Your breath’s coming in harsh pants and you can hardly stand the overwhelming _heat_ in the pit of your belly, and every nerve ending feels like it’s barreling toward some kind of cataclysm. You try releasing Jin’s hair so he can pull away if he wants, but he’s not having it: his hand covers yours and his nails dig in sharply, telling you _very_ plainly he’s not going _anywhere_. A loud, high-pitched moan—almost a whine—tumbles out of your mouth. “Jin!”

To no one’s surprise, it’s his _tongue_ that sets you off. He retreats just enough to focus his sucking on the head of your cock, using his fist to stroke and squeeze the remaining length; the grooves in the roof of his mouth rub _just right_ against your foreskin, and then he tickles the bundle of nerves underneath with the tip of his tongue and you’re just—it’s over, you’re gone. You choke on your voice as you come in his mouth and down his throat, fingers yanking on his hair in a way you’re _sure_ must be painful, but Jin just moans and swallows your load like it’s everything he’s ever wanted. He doesn’t pull off until you’re completely finished, and then at last he lets go of your dick and leans back on his heels to catch his breath, his lips brilliantly red as he wipes the mess of spit and come off his chin. Sweat makes his hair stick to his neck and forehead, and his watery gray eyes look enormous in his soft, pink-cheeked face. He’s the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen.

There’s often this moment, right after you orgasm, where the endorphin high fades and you’re left crashing. When it’s with Jin, that crash usually involves a rapid influx of all your old anxieties: that you’re holding Jin back, keeping him overly dependent on you so he can’t ever leave, or that you’re corrupting him or poisoning him or something else equally heinous. Because he’s your _brother_ , goddamn it, you’re meant to _take care_ of him, and he’s been through _so much_ —if there’s one thing he deserves it’s freedom, and can he really have that if he’s glued to your hip, when objectively he deserves _so much better_ —?

“Why’s _that_ your face?” Jin huffs, climbing up onto the couch with you. “Was I really that bad?”

No, of course not, but it only makes you _feel_ even _worse_. “You could’ve done anything, Jin,” you mutter, barely audible as you wipe the sweat off your forehead. “And now... I don’t know. Sometimes I worry I’ve ruined you.”

You’re never sure what to expect when you confess this sort of thing, since you normally try so hard to keep it hidden even from yourself. You certainly don’t anticipate the _death glare_ you see him giving you when you uncover your face, his cute blush now an angry, blotchy patch of red, stormcloud eyes narrowed to slits.

(And you _definitely_ don’t remember he birthed the most malevolent of the Ignis, either.)

“You’re _not_ serious,” he says, his voice cracking around the syllables. “ _‘Ruined’_ me? I’m not a china doll, niisan. I have free will, it’s not like they scraped it out to give it to you-know-who—you of all people should know that, you’re supposed to be _different_ —”

“Jin, Jin,” you tell him, soft over his rising hysteria. His mouth snaps shut, though his chest is still heaving and his breaths whistle sharply as he exhales through his nose. “Jin, I’m sorry. You’re right, of course you can think for yourself. I guess... I just don’t always understand why, when you can make your own choices... choose _anything_ in the world... _this_ is what you’ve picked. _I’m_ what you’ve picked. I guess—I don’t know, it feels too good to be true? Maybe I’m trying to find the catch or something. But it’s wrong of me to suggest the catch is you can’t actually make your own decisions. I’m sorry if I implied that.”

He stares at you for a few moments, his eyes very big and very bright. You’ve never felt so obviously scrutinized. He seems to decide that what you say is true, though, because the tension—at least most of it—leaves his body with a loud sigh; then he looks away from you and fiddles with the loose ends of his hair like he’s feeling self-conscious.

“We can’t make this a thing every time I give you head,” he mutters. “It ruins the fun.”

You wriggle awkwardly out of your sweatpants (now bunched around your knees) and let them pile on the floor. Then, for good measure, you strip off your shirt as well, and then you get on your hands and knees on the cushions to scoot closer to Jin, whose eyes go adorably wide at the sudden proximity.

“You might not be a china doll,” you say, grinning, “but you’re still _very_ pretty.”

Jin snorts, though it doesn’t do much to hide the color rising in his face. “Excellent recovery,” he deadpans.

You get him flat on his back and place your palms on either side of his head to balance yourself over him, taking care not to snag any of his hair. His breathing speeds up and he hurriedly looks away from you again; you _hate_ to make fun, but you can’t help but chuckle a little.

“Aw, he’s shy now,” you tease, running a fingertip along his cheek.

“You’re in my bubble,” Jin mumbles, flushing redder.

The hand travels lower, down to the jutting bone of his knee before gradually sliding back up. Jin squeezes his eyes shut as you cup him gently through his jeans; his erection’s hot and hard in your hand even through the thick denim, and he whines softly when you start kneading him.

“Funny,” you murmur, “you don’t seem to mind all that much.”

He throws an arm over his eyes as you unfasten his zipper and help him out of his pants, his boxers too, and then you’re left admiring the flushed cock curving toward his belly, the tip already dribbling precome despite how little you’ve actually touched him.

“Can’t believe sucking me off got you this worked up,” you muse, almost to yourself. “I won’t lie, Jin, that’s... kind of making me hard again.”

“You’re too old for that,” he scoffs.

“I’m _emotionally_ hard, then,” you say. “My feelings for you are very erect. Positively tumescent.”

“Shoichi-niisan,” Jin says, “sometimes I wonder why you’re allowed to speak.”

“I want you to touch yourself for me,” you tell him, which _very effectively_ shuts him up.

“Figures you’d make _me_ do the work,” he mumbles, like he’s not trembling lightly at just the _thought_ of you watching him. “You and your weird voyeurism kink, niisan, I swear—”

You pull his calves up and around your waist as his hand slips between his legs, his bottom lip held in his teeth as he trains his eyes on the sofa cushion by his cheek. It’s almost intriguing how willing and eager he is to put on a show for _your_ benefit, but when it comes to himself, he turns into the meek little schoolboy everyone knows him as. You massage his thighs with the palms of your hands, hoping to encourage him; Jin seems to sigh more to calm his nerves than anything as he gingerly closes his hand around his dick.

“This isn’t gonna take long,” he confesses.

You smile. “I didn’t really think it would.”

“Don’t _bully_ me, niisan—”

“Hey, I’m not making fun,” you insist, still rubbing. “I literally said it’s getting me hard. You know, emotionally.”

“I’m trying to _forget_ you said that, actually,” he mutters. You squeeze his hips as he finally gets to pumping his cock, the strokes firm and fast; his mouth falls open in pleasure as he settles into a rhythm. “Mm, niisan—”

“I’m right here,” you tell him softly, your breathing slow and deep. Jin tries to cover his mouth with his unoccupied hand, but you’re quick to twine those fingers with yours instead, eager to watch his face as he brings himself off: “It’s the best part,” you say, which endearingly makes him blush again. 

He grips your hand tight as his pace gets rougher, his moaning high and thin as he starts to get close. You trace the line of his hip and waist for a little bit before changing tack: your free hand slides over his thigh, and Jin gasps loudly when he feels you roll his balls between your fingers.

“ _Fuck_ ,” he bites out, his head pounding against the seat of the couch as he cranes his neck. “Niisan, I’m gon— _niis_ —”

“Baby, _come_ ,” you murmur, and Jin wails and spills all over his hand and the cushions beneath him.

(You’re going to need to fuck him later after all. You’ll be thinking about this _long_ after you’ve recovered, and if he’s _this_ cute jerking himself off, you can only _imagine_ how sexy he’ll be when you’ve buried your cock in him. Not that you’ve never done it before, you have, but he’s always finding new ways to surprise you.)

“Okay, so, _technically_ ,” you say, even as you pull him against you while he tries to catch his breath, “ _I_ didn’t make a mess on the couch. You did. Promise kept. I’m the best brother ever.”

“ _Excuse_ you,” Jin shoots back. “I gave you a hand massage, a blowjob, _and_ I catered to your weird Peeping Tom thing. _I’m_ the best brother ever.”

“You like literally all of those,” you respond.

“Yeah, well, it’s still three points for me,” he says. You just lean in close to nuzzle his neck, which makes him laugh since—as you already knew—he’s ticklish there. “Hey— _hey!_ That’s _cheating!_ That’s _unsportsmanlike conduct!_ ”

“All’s fair in love and war,” you tell him, and then wince, realizing it’s something Jin’s _you-know-who_ might’ve said. It doesn’t even seem to cross his mind, though; he just pulls you down to kiss you long and deep, which of course you allow for a gracious few seconds before rearing back in exaggerated disgust. “Oh, _gross_ , go rinse your mouth out,” you insist, as if it’ll get him to do _anything_ but continue to try and kiss your face, as hard as his wide grin makes that for him.

“ _Make_ me,” he says, because he knows you love a challenge. Just not as much as he loves _being_ that challenge, his eyes sparkling with mischief as he dares you, wordlessly, to put him in his place.

Maybe this once, you can accept what you’re being given.

**Author's Note:**

> drop me a line if you enjoyed - you can find me on tumblr & twitter @96propaganda, and my 18+ twitter is (fittingly) @kusanagicest 💞 stay hydrated, wear your mask, you know the drill, yall. till next~


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